


use your imagination

by svpportive



Category: Broadchurch
Genre: BUT IT WAS IN FACT FUN FOR ME TO WRITE, Banter, Could be read as crack!, Crack, Domestic, F/M, Humor, MAYBE EVEN OOC!, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, This is fluff, guess who's BACK and SLEEP DEPRIVED babey!, this is nothing but also it makes me giggle so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:15:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21598267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svpportive/pseuds/svpportive
Summary: hardy and miller after a night out, piecing things together.
Relationships: Alec Hardy & Ellie Miller, Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller
Comments: 13
Kudos: 123





	use your imagination

**Author's Note:**

> u ever look at seasonal depression combining w ur regular depression all a week before finals and think: ahh revisiting those emotionally repressed c*ps will make me feel better. well it did, but now it’s 5am so fuck. im so sorry but this is barely proofread - i just wanted the serotonin that comes w publishing on ao3 and now u all have to pay the price. happy thanksgiving!

He comes to gradually, but finds his eyes only open halfway. He tries again, blinking purposefully, and when he succeeds he instantly regrets it due to the stream of sunlight coming through the window.

He must’ve forgotten to close the blinds last night, then. He closes his eyes once more to recuperate.

There’s an ache just beneath his right eyebrow that he’s slowly gaining awareness of as he gains consciousness, and he raises a hand to push at it when he brushes something warm by his side.

Conscious of his headache, he sits up slowly, and he’s glad he did because the shock alone at the sight in front of him seems to aggravate it further.

Lying next to him on the bed, fast asleep, is Miller.

She’s fully dressed, still in her pantsuit from work, and so is he, but that’s not as startling. She’s using his blazer as a blanket, and is snoring away softly.

Her face is as peaceful as he’s ever had a chance to see, the lines on her face smoothed out. She’d cut her hair short again recently, and some of the curls had fallen into her face.

He brushes one of out of her forehead and her nose twitches. He darts his hand away, catching himself.

Right, then. He scratches his neck and tries to remember how they’d gotten here, but all that comes up is flashes that make his headache worsen.

“Miller,” he whispers. She doesn’t move. He tries again, a little louder and forcible, “ _Miller_.”

She stirs slightly, but her eyes stay closed, “Shut up, Hardy.”

He pats her shoulder, “That’s enough, time to get up, Miller, seriously,”

She groans, “What do you _wan_ -“ her eyes flash open, and as they take in the scene they widen, and she goes to bolt up.

He pushes down on her shoulder before she can do so. “You’ll regret that, trust me. Try it slower.”

She glares at him - and that peaceful expression was short-lived, wasn’t it - but does as he suggests, sitting up slowly to lean against the headboard next to him. There’s a pillow crease on her cheek, but he doesn’t risk mentioning it.

“My head _aches_ , fuck! What happened?”

He shrugs. “No idea, though I suspect it’ll come to us in due time.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute. Hardy tries to think of a way to make sure this doesn’t turn awkward. He’s never had awkwardness with Miller before, and he dreads even the possibility. This was one relationship he wasn't allowed to ruin.

Next to him, Miller’s stomach rumbles.

“I think I may have enough in the kitchen for omelettes,” he looks to her, getting out of bed. Now here’s something he could do. “You take the bathroom.”

She looks at him blankly before nodding, and they part towards their respective tasks.

 _Tasks_. By wording it like that things were already becoming more professional, less awkward.

He’s rifling through his kitchen looking for something else to put on omelettes other than just _egg_ when she reappears, the cheek with the pillow crease redder than the other like Miller has tried to rub at it. Something in his stomach flips, and he ignores it.

She grabs two mugs from the shelf and starts searching for the kettle. “I think I remembered where it started at least.”

“Oh yeah? Last I remember is that awful rave Hartford took us to.” He turns the stove on for his own pan before he gets tired of her noise and just retrieves the kettle for her.

“Oi it was just a club, and you know that. No wonder we lost the bet with you talking like that all night.” 

“It wasn’t my fault we lost! _I_ at least knew what boomer meant.”

She huffs, and he knows it’s because she knows that if they continued this argument she’d lose, especially as she doesn't know he knows it because her own son used it against him. She switches tactics instead. “Either way we went to a bar after, but then left around 9 cause Bob mentioned wanting to go home to the kids and you got all weepy-“

“I did not get weepy!”

“You did!” Miller laughs, “You absolutely did. She’s been gone not a week and you’re already acting as if you’ve just sent her off to war. What are you gonna do when she goes off to uni?”

“Shut up.” He flips the omelette perfectly, and she raises an eyebrow that makes his triumphant expression morph back into a scowl. “Either way, doesn’t explain how we got back to mine.”

Miller chews her lip, and takes the plate she’s offered and places it on the counter behind her. “I don’t rem- oh! It was cause I had a thought about the Flynn-Fletcher case in the cab!”

Hardy nods, now remembering her giddiness in the backseat of the cab the streetlights dancing on her drunkenly happy face. “Y’must’ve stormed your way into mine instead of just waiting till mor-.”

“Stormed?” she turns the screaming kettle off and scoffs, “I seem to recall someone offering a nightcap to accompany my breakthrough. One-“

He winces, knowing what’s coming next.

She says it anyways, deliberately messing up the pronunciation to spite him, he thinks, “ _Châteauneuf de Pas_!”

He groans. She laughs and hands him his tea, and they sit at the table.

“Fine. But _I_ seem to recall we didn’t make it through the whole bottle.”

Both of their eyes go to the half empty - or half full - bottle sitting on the kitchen island.

His memories draw a blank after that, and he chews in thought. “Then what?”

Curiously, Miller is quiet all of a sudden, seemingly intent on tearing apart her breakfast. Before he can prod her she clears her throat.

“Then we had a tiff about whether I should walk home or not and we moved to your bedroom to argue about whether or not you slept in a coffin."

“I think we just crashed like that on your bed, and now we’re here! No funny business. Hurray,” she says with false cheer.

He nods, and takes a particularly large swig of his tea, scalding his tongue. Still hot. She’s not telling him something, and she knows that he knows, but he doesn’t say anything, debating his options instead.

They eat in quiet from there out, only occasionally speaking about the food or their respective plans for the day. And he realizes that not once did he have to focus on steering towards professionalism, as not once had things been in danger of being awkward.

They’ve dumped the plates in the sink and she’s rooting around the living room for her bag when he decides to give it a shot.

“Miller,” she looks up to him in acknowledgment before going back to her search, “what really happened after the wine?”

She sighs, and takes a seat on the sofa. He stays standing on the other side of the room.

“You started talking, ranting really. About hope.” He swallows but nods for her to continue.

“How Broadchurch represented that for you now, how I-“ she doesn’t waver in her eye contact, and his feet feel rooted to the floor. “How I represented that. Second chances and new starts and the- the possibility of a future.”

“And then you started muttering about how you shouldn’t be telling me these things, how I wasn’t ready for those big revelations, that we _needed time_ and then you said. Something." He cringes. "It got steadily more Scottish and incomprehensible.”

Oh well if that was all.

“Miller, I’m sorry I-“

“I’m not done.” She said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Because I said things back to you, Hardy, I told you things I wouldn’t have said sober for another few months, years maybe.”

“It was all the things I’d wished we’d said, when you’d first come back, Daisy in tow. But you were right, I don’t think I was ready for it then. Neither of us were.”

She held out a hand and slowly, steadily, he came back to her, like always, and sat next to her on the couch.

“And now?” he says shakily, and his voice is almost unrecognizable.

Miller smiles, and the pillow mark is still there on her cheek. “I think we may be ready to say it. And not while drunk, either.”

He chuckles when she does, but neither of them lose their seriousness. He clears his throat.

“Still. You’re under no obligation - I’ll deal with this if I have to, you don’t need to feel guilty of anything if it’s just me I un-“

She slaps his arm, “Just say the damn three words, Hardy!”

“Well now I don’t particularly want to, if that’s the treatment I get!”

“Oh for the love of-“

He rolls his eyes, “I love you. Ellie.”

“And an _Ellie_ , too!” she teases, her eyes are shining, “who would’ve thought - Alec Hardy capable of first names. It only took us this many years!”

He clears his throat. She laughs, and slaps him on the arm once again, but she clutches on this time.

“I love you too, you knob.”

**Author's Note:**

> few things  
> \- title is from kylie minogue as usual, this time the 2001 classic "whenever you feel like it”  
> \- yes I was craving omelets at 4am (fuck the british spelling)  
> \- they brought back hartford after some groveling. there was some bet going around where hardy/miller had to prove they weren’t boomers, and I forget the details but katie won obvs  
> \- flynn-fletcher is from phineas & ferb yes  
> \- 1921 châteauneuf de pas or whatever tf? blatant crowley reference bc just like him all ik abt wine is “old as fuck and fancy sounding name = good probably”  
> \- also yes they did come home around 9 and prob go to bed around 11 and still wake up worse for wear some of us are old  
> im [svpportive](https://svpportive.tumblr.com/) on tumblr so come say hi if u liked this !! if u didnt u can still come say hi i guess


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